Executable

//Executable

Computer > Downloads > powerstruggle.doc

Spoiler

The year is 2050, and everybody is free.
Humanity is on the brink of ridding the world of most disease, war is unlikely to occur for the next century, and poverty is no lo�����nnnnnnnnnnggge...

poverty is still very much an issue. dont let them tell you otherwise. economy is not a science its a powerstruggle.

Advancements have allowed the standard of living in most democratic nations to see an incline, health and overall happiness at an all-time high. The environment also sees much of these benefits as businesses look to reducing carbon emissions and the government: to enforcing "green standards" in all se��to��vdi2222222...

take one poison away, kill us with another.

As green energy is subsidized, the nation becomes less and less dependent on fossil fuels, namely oil. With an unprecedented move to cities, now-unoccupied rural regions have become prime real estate for the agriculture and renewable energy industry. Nuclear becomes more popular as we draw nearer and nearer to practically infinite fu������sssion.nnn---...

watch out

This growth has largely been spearheaded by Society Tomorrow, a con����...

all they want is money trust me.
the year is 2050 and nobody is free because of them.

//Welcome to Society Tomorrow

Computer > Documents > Folder:workstuff > Employee Readiness.docx

Who are we?

Spoiler

Society Tomorrow is a conglomerate of three international organizations that collaborate and share resources to promote economic, social, and scientific progress! With a fund of tens of billions of dollars, we introduce the world to advancements, inventions, innovations, research, and more. Don't think of us as a business. Think of us as dream-makers.

What once was impossible is now possible because of the effort of brilliant minds that work under Society Tomorrow. You don't need an IQ of 150 to join our ranks--just a willingness to set the world forward by massive, massive bounds. A small step for us is a giant one for mankind.

Society Tomorrow hires in many fields, so your degree won't just collect dust in the wall. We always need a new perspective to ensure that we see things in a groundbreaking way. You don't want a job; you want a career, and that's just what you'll find at Society Tomorrow.

Who are our member companies?

Society Tomorrow comprises three member corporations from three fields that we view as vital to the future: biotechnology, computer science, and military-industrial. To discover more, click the drop-downs below.

BIOTECHNOLOGY

Spoiler

Biologique is a biotechnology firm funded in part by government subsidies and in part due to stock revenue.

We strive to create a world worth living in through applied science and mathematics! With great minds on our team, we are building tomorrow's future today.

Based in Portland, Oregon.

Contacts:
Giorgio Nova, Director of Research Operations
Hussein Colluci, Secretary of Biotechnologies


COMPUTER SCIENCE
//Don't forget to put the banner here, Alice.

Spoiler

Lifeblood Technologies deals in computer science, funded in large part via service to both the public and private sector.

If technology's to be what dominates the world, why not make it efficient and effective? Here at Lifeblood, we push the envelope of computers until there's no more left to push. We're excited to see the world go paperless--safely!

Based in Richmond, Virginia.

Contacts:
Kara Norbridge, Chief Cybersecurity Officer
███████ ███████████, ███████ Consultant


MILITARY-INDUSTRIAL
//Don't forget the banner here, either.

Spoiler

Martin-Ferry Industrial mass produces all the metallurgy upon which we all depend, relying in no small part on their foreign and domestic contracts.

This country was built on steel, and that's how it will remain. At Martin-Ferry Industrial, we drive the Space Race, infrastructure push, and efforts to defend national efforts by doing what we do best: supplying the hard metal.

Based in Nevada.

Contacts:
Deonte Jakade, Chief Executive Officer
Corporal Adelise Florence, Manager of Nuclear Technologies

What ab�����DCHAOo3008899933104959...

//Stand Alone.

Spoiler

i hate how they sound so jolly. listen, stop reading that garbage and read this instead.

you know how the news is always talking about how the rich and poor never really seem to get along? how the gap is always growing wider. well thats pretty much their fault.

not entirely,but mostly. you see, ever since a couple presidents decided that it would be ok to let them run wild, they have been. they're a business, not whatever crap they call themselves. dreammakers? more like dreamcrushers, really.

i know that you dont actually believe any of that. you hate them just as much as i do. right?

youre one of us.

Who are you?

Spoiler

Like most of us, you're a hacker. Or, somebody else with some kind of talent. We don't all seek the same thing, you know, but we all have some stake in bringing down Society Tomorrow.

Some of us are radically anti-capitalist. Some of us are just anarchists. Some of us just want some cash, or to screw up somebody's day. Some might just want revenge. When push comes to shove, though, we all want to see the same thing: those huge guys at the top taken down a few.

We're the Black Hats. We Standalone.

And, if you're a White Hat, watch out.

Black Hat v. White Hat

Spoiler

The Black Hats oppose Society Tomorrow. Though they may have different agendas, they all depend on Society Tomorrow's weakness.

The White Hats defend Society Tomorrow against the haunts of the Black Hats. They're loyal to the conglomerate for one reason or another.

In the end, they're all human. Besides this conflict, they have lives. It's simply a matter of balancing their personal drama with what is truly consequential.

CHARACTERS.

Note: White Hats tend to be older than twenty-five, whilst Black Hats can vary in age. Take it up with myself or @Moonwatcher if you'd like an exception.

CodeSelect all

[b]WHITE / BLACK HAT[/b]
[b]Name:[/b] [i]Reminder that this is set in 2050 A.D., America.[/i]
[b]Age:[/b] [i]See above note.[/i]
[b]Gender / Sexuality[/b]
[b]Appearance:[/b]
[b]Biography:[/b]
[b]Skill Set:[/b]
[b]Other:[/b]


Black Hats:
I. Reserved for myself
II. Reserved for @jumpingsheep
III. Finn Braley (@TinyJarStoredDreams)
IV.
V.

White Hats:
I. Reserved for @reikann
II. Machmud Morandi (@Sacredlege)
III.
IV.
V.

Machmud Morandi

"Please put away the lighter, Mr. Morandi."

Morandi joked with the cigarette between his teeth, before deciding to tuck his plastic lighter away while leaving it in his mouth unlit. The woman in the computer screen looked somewhat peeved, but she always did. And besides--it isn't like she was having a good day. "Dexx couldn't come," he said, swiveling in his revolving chair (regardless of what age he was or what period he was in, the day he didn't play around with a swiveling chair is the day someone shoots him in the head while he's in it). "He's a bit busy with whatever teen prodigies do these days."

"I didn't come to talk to him," Norbridge said, firmly, "I came to speak with you on a certain matter. Considering your history."

Morandi stopped turning his chair, revolving by nothing more than his built-up momentum and his stretched out feet. The office was quiet, windows with closed blinders on both sides of his office, a bookshelf behind him in case he was waiting for something to load. The light above his head was fluorescent, but he turned it off on the account that the sunlight seemed particularly sunny that day, just as his disapproving boss was being particularly disapproving that day and his content self was happily being a little more than content. "Internet or real life?" he said. "Because if you're talking about my internet history, you should know that I've done all of my work well and efficiently and I deserve a minute or two with Mr. Vaseline and Mrs. Tissuebox."

"This is not a joking matter."

"No, it isn't. The violation of men's privacy and preferences by both the patriarchy and third wave feminism is very much not a joking matter--"

"Mr. Morandi, there was an attempt to hack our Nevada base."

Morandi stopped swiveling. He stared at the computer screen, his expression blank, his lip thinned. "The Russians? The Iraqis? The Chinese?" he turned to the computer screen, his sudden change of emotion not necessarily jarring, but still relatively daunting. "Which government? What were they looking for?"

"No government. It's an independent source," Norbridge said, worried, but evidently relieved he finally took it seriously. "The Black Hats were digging through their nuclear weaponry study folders."

Morandi stared at the screen, before narrowing his brows. "Black Hats?" he considered the possibility. "No. Well, maybe, but--no, they wouldn't do anything dangerous with those. I mean, not physically dangerous. The only thing they ever do is leak information, not--"

"We. Don't. Care." Norbridge pressed. "You're getting reckless in your old days, Mr. Morandi. If it wasn't your subordinate noting it to us, they might've got away with more information than they actually got."

Morandi stopped. "Dexx?" he asked.

"We won't say."

"It's Dexx, isn't it?" he laughed, despite the gravity of the situation. "The overqualified little shi--"

"Mr. Morandi, we know that you and the Black Hats have had a notable history," Norbridge said, "And we know that you have...ways of persuading them. Taming them, perhaps. We shall explore our non-violent options while we can, but if we tire them all, we can't promise that we'll be as tame as they're currently being."

"Well, they don't exactly have nuclear warheads in their arsenal, so it's only fair they have the advantage of savagery," Morandi started.

"Mr. Morandi."

"Don't wear it out, Kara," he said, nearly laughing. Then, he thought about his laugh, before straightening his back. "I'll see to it that I hear their side of the argument. By any chance, would you mind if I--" he paused. "--checked into the other corporations folders?"

Norbridge stared at him. "Excuse me?"

Morandi weighed his options, before deciding to say: "Never mind. Later, if I find proper information."

His boss almost smiled. "That's what I like to hear."

"Would No Name like to hear that, too?"

Norbridge quickly gave back her non-smile. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"Ah yes." Morandi smiled, sardonically. "Of course you wouldn't."

Norbridge stared at him for a bit longer, before sighing and shaking her head. "Just...do your job, Morandi," she said, losing her stiff, unfazed demeanor, "I don't need your sass today. I've got things to do."

Morandi smiled, a bit more genuine this time. That goes for the both of us, then.

...

"Pagi, Mrs. Garcia," Morandi said, cordially, "You didn't tell me you were coming to town."

The woman looked up from her coffee cup, tilting her head in curiosity. She studied the man before her, deeming him unfit of her caution, sipping her coffee once again. "Morandi," she said, "I take it I didn't accidentally 'forget' about texting you my location?"

"No, but you emailed a colleague, so its close," Morandi seated himself in the opposite chair, waving for a waiter across the cafe. "Tip--I'm still not sure how Yahoo Mail is still around, but it oughtn't be. Stick to G-Mail. With an extra layer of coded language. Also, add in a fake topic to distract the hacker. My Dog Just Peed On the Carpet Again or Mike is Such a Poser are good."

Hailey Garcia shook her head, chuckling lightly. "You're unbelievable."

"Oh, you haven't seen the new recruit," Morandi laughed. "At least I have the courtesy not to read your project plans. I suggest you don't anger Dexx; I'm not sure if he's mature enough to handle it properly."

"And you aren't mature enough to know how to give a woman her space."

Morandi shrugged. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "You've got a lighter on you, Mbak?"

"Don't call me that. You know I don't know what you're saying. For all I know you could be cursing me now," Garcia pulled out a lighter from her coat pocket, tossing it to him. Morandi swiped it from the air, elbowing the table while he lit his cigarette. "Besides, don't you think Lady sounds better? Or Miss?"

He grinned. "You don't trust me?" he said. "Kau kurang percaya sama gue. Aku terlalu takut dengan apa yang kau lakukan kalau gue memakimu untuk mencari kesenangan dalam wajah marahmu yang cantik." He paused, taking a drag. "Anyway. Have you had any recent...hacks as of late?"

Garcias sipped her coffee, glaring at him. "Excuse me?"

Morandi stared at her. Firmly. "Hacks. Black-hat-hacks." he pulled out his cigarette, puffing it out to the side before facing Garcias again. "Anti-Capitalist-Establishment-And-Literally-Anything-By-the-Top-One-Percent hacks."

She narrowed her brows, looking into her coffee as if it was actually tea and leaves would pop out at any moment, predicting her future. "The Computer Sciences have been hacked?"

Morandi shrugged. "An attempt was made on the Military division," he puffed into the air, again. The waiter came around. He ordered a cup of hot tea, two cubes of sugar. "A subordinate of mine noticed, thankfully, and Norbridge notified me. They seemed to be very...eager about the nuclear weaponry folders."

Garcias nearly spit out her coffee. "They're going to bomb the people?"

"No, no, no." Morandi shook his hand in disagreement. "I mean, Norbridge suggested it, but that's not what they want. I know these kids. They're radical, but they're not stupid. If they wanted to bomb anybody, it would be all the corporations, and they wouldn't use nukes of all things in facilities near large populations. If anything, they'd use it as a threat, but they would never be able to pull it off." He reasoned with his cigarette. "I haven't talked with them in a while, but I can't imagine they'd grow this stupid in this short amount of time."

"So what are they planning to do?"

Morandi paused. He looked at Garcias, a question in his eyes. "We aren't exactly a clean corporation," he said, somewhere between a question and a statement, "Are we?"

Garcias paused with Morandi, and the two of them locked eyes, a cup of coffee and a cigarette in her and his hands respectively. She closed her eyes, before shaking her head. "No," she sipped her coffee, and for a moment it looked like she wanted it to be a shot of whiskey, "Not exactly."

Morandi took a drag. "They must be looking for information about notorious projects," he said, "If we have any."

"You don't know if we do?"

He shook his head. "I always thought I'd get fired if I tried to look," he said, "But I think, at this point, I can persuade Norbridge and No Name to allow me a peek into the other divisions." He looked at the cafe around him, and the scene outside the window beside his seat. He whispered, softly, "Not that that'll stop me if it turns out they are hiding some fucked up shit."

Garcias chuckled. "Well," she said, "It depends on what you define as 'fucked up'."

Morandi chuckled. "Always the objective scientist, eh? Fine," he raised his hands, chewing on his cigarette. "I won't judge. Hey, they pay me good, so it ain't like I'm going to bite the hand that's feeding me so easily," he raised both his arms to the plush seat behind him, spreading them out in a bird-position over the seat. His face turned grave for a moment. "I have my contacts, though. I could ask, and if what they say seems severe..."

Garcias set her coffee down, crunching her brows. She stared at him for a little while, before getting the point. "Biologique is the best place where I can finish my projects," she said, conflicted. "I mean--I can't just--" she stopped. Breathed in. "It's for the good of humanity, Morrie. You know it's always for the good of humanity."

He nodded. "If it is," he started, "Promise you'll update me if some 'fucked-up' shit comes up in your division. Objective 'fucked-up' shit."

She considered her options. "Yes," she said, more sure of herself than before.

"If I find out Biologique is setting up some biological war with the Russians, and you don't tell me," he said, pointing at her with his cigarette, "You promise me you had no idea what was going on?"

"You read my emails," she said. "I don't think I even need to tell you."

"It's not about the information. It's about who I can trust."

"I can't imagine what that list looks like, if you're including me of all people in it."

He stared at the window outside. A camera hung above a streetlamp, staring at him. He smirked to it, waving. "You," he said, through gritted teeth, "Have no idea."

John Hatfield

John sits at a black desk a large screen built in like all of the desks and tables in the house. He draws his ideas on the screen and works out math. He is drawing a design for a cell phone. It is a slightly curved transparent glass pane that if made a reality would be practically indestructible. His father never takes his ideas seriously though.

A black hat sits on top his head. His father hates that he constantly wears this. It brings down the family legacy. Darin Hatfield always talking of legacies and how we affect the world yet helping the very people that make the world a worse place the Society Tomorrow.

There is a slight noise as the front door of the house is shut signalling the end of John pretending he's working on something like a phone design. He opens the secured server he designed. He has been trying to get info from the Salt Lake Society Tomorrow only to be cut off by an extreme firewall. His fingers move furiously as he attacks and blocks the system. They still haven't been able to get past his personally designed security.

He gets in the sync of attempting tactic after tactic to get into their system. He tries a technique that hardly ever works because it's rare that there aren't heavy defenses against it. But when underestimated the technique can be devastating, crippling the network. This system is the first to getting into the rest of them.


John silently hopes for a second before jumping back into attack.

//:1010010 CAPS 10010110011 shift 00110100101010 ctrl 1010 tab 10100100010
//: Blocked
//: 10 ctrl 1010100101tab01001010110101010100101 shift 010101010101
//: Blocked

John lets out a deep sigh and tries one last time. Concentrating he types wildly
//: 10101 Alt 01001000101010010010101 Caps 010100101001000101
//:Success

The firewall falls and John is ready to wreak havoc. He begins to empty the accounts letting the money flow into ones selected with a program that John set up. The System is already going haywire and viruses of other hackers come in. John types a grin on his face, With hate, love Robin Hood



He stands up having done it again. He runs downstairs to get some milk and cookies from the pantry. The doorbell rings.
John walks slowly and confidently to the door assuming that what he'll find on the other side is some friend of his fathers or business partner. He swings the door open to find a police officer. A deep voice says, "We got some interesting signals from your residence Mr. Hatfield."

Corrine Addison // Press Conference (Addison Residence)

If somebody had to die today, it would be him.[i]

***

Through the window of her parlor, she could easily see the massive crowd of press, curious attendees, and an obvious assortment of people here to see why everybody was gathered here. Several news stations had arrived, and parked their vans on her perfectly-manicured lawn, on her perfectly-maintained property, preparing to report on her perfectly-procured sphere of influence. They were erecting their tripods, patting themselves with makeup, and doing soundchecks.

They were stumbling over themselves. The mass of people were one outcry from trampling one another, and the media outlets were competing for the prime spots in the audience. Corrinne was quite sure that one of the correspondents for NBC had purposefully knocked over a presumably-costly camera from CNN, and at least three fights had broken out, forcing the line of police at the threshold of her property to break rank for a moment.

She was giddily laughing in her seat, just watching on as they bickered amongst themselves. In fact, she was more than prepared to step out and take on the barrage of questions. Her clothing was to her liking, an immaculate, short-sleeved dress shirt to display her tattoos, a conservative black skirt, and black heels. Nothing was at fault with her rehearsed answers, which her publicist had insisted on memorizing, but that was [i]boring. Improvisation was the spice of life!

With a cough, she regained her composure, an expressionless face manifesting. She tapped her fingers patiently, and waited until the raucousness had died down a bit before rising from her chair. Out into the hall she went and through her French doors. She stopped for a moment, though. They were very pretty... ornate designs carved into some "luxury wood." Brass handles, and...

She shook her head, inhaling and exhaling deeply before pushing open the door to a torrent of camera flashes and jarbled speech drowned out over the noise of the crowd. Somebody had already set up an awfully-convenient podium with a number of microphones at the top of her marble stairs.

Corrinne ran her hands along her skirt, and assumed her appropriate position. She smiled for the cameras, folding her hands on the surface of the podium. Half of the attendees held smartphones above their heads, and the other half were trying to shove recording devices in her face. Cameramen rather wisely kept their distance as their respective reporters ran into the fray. She waited until one of them screamed loud enough to nearly-silence the others.

"Ms. Addison," they cried, rendering the shouting match to a murmur. "Do you condone the radicals in your organization?"

She cleared her throat, leaning forward toward the microphones. "No, of course not. We are, in every regard, meant to be a largely peaceful organization. A protest of the modern-day." She cautiously tread over the answer. "I must ask those that have resorted to terrorism to return to the purely-civil manner of retaliation."

She could already see her Twitter feed, rife with messages about how she was "surprisingly well-spoken for a blank."

Another followed suit, "Do you really think that funding this organization is the best way of using your family's wealth?"

Corrinne sighed. "The money was transferred to me by our attorney after their death. Legally speaking, it is mine," she stressed. "These are funds well-spent, I think, for the good of the people."

***

An agent had been seen at the airport, but were long gone by now.

***

A few less interesting questions followed, with responses that were departures from the script. The publicist watching from somewhere else on their television was more than likely screaming at her, and she would have an earful of it later. "You're supposed to be neutral," he'd say! "You're supposed to seem like the victim." Victimizing herself was no way to get things done, she reasoned.

She placed her phone on the podium, glancing at it momentarily. "I think we have time for just one more question." Seeing a particularly eager correspondent, Corrinne motioned to her. "Yes?"

"Anything you want to say to Society Tomorrow?"

This public figure bit the inside of her cheek. "Why... yes." She shared eye contact with the several cameras floating around, finally settling on somebody in the crowd. She'd have a word with him later. "You're overstepping your bounds, all of you sitting in those offices. Making money on the backs of people? Pathetic. Sit in your high castles for now, but know that no reign's ever eternal," she hissed. "Wait until somebody has their thumb on the scale, wait until it tips in somebody's favor for once. Then, you'll know just what you're doing to these people."

With a final nod, she dismissed the crowd. Most of them lingered for a while, forcing the police to begin escorting them out. Soon, they had all trickled out...

***

There was a bomb on the plane.

***

Save for an older gentlemen, grinning nonchalantly. "How goes it, Ms. Addison?"

She offered a smile of her own. "I've been well, Machmud. How're you?"

"Oh, stop that, Corrinne. The cameras aren't here anymore, you know. You're welcome to be candid with me!"

"What do you mean?" It was becoming difficult to hold the smile. She held her hands in front of her at the waist, stepping down from the staircase. "What do you want?"

The older gentleman chuckled, rasply, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his coat pocket. "You don't mind me smoking, do you?"

She shrugged. "No, no," a bit uneasily. "Go on."

***

The jet hit the runway.

***

He had lit the cigarette some seconds before she gave him permission, which only irked Corrinne further. She imagined the responses he'd have to the conference, the talking-to she'd inevitably receive. Some sort of justification for the wicked, no doubt. A shallow excuse used solely to cover up greed.

Instead, he asked: "What did you find in the nuclear files?"

Corrinne tilted her head slightly, still attempting to maintain the plastered expression. "Why, I don't know what you're talking about," she said, without the slightest of twitches.

Morandi took a brief drag. "You're not talking to the press, Ms. Addison, and you're not talking to a Society Tomorrow representative, either," he said, "A colleague of mine found them. Norbridge is pressing me to find a solution, but I'm more concerned about what you'd need our Military's nuclear studies for. Because I know you're not going to use it," he gestured his cigarette at her, "You're not stupid enough for that, Ms. Addison."

What nerve he had, approaching her on her property to discuss something like that! The home was no place for that sort of conversation; she'd been pushed to host the press conference here. It made her paranoid, and rightfully so... he found her. Though, how couldn't he? She broke the air of calm and cricked her neck. "How is Kara, by the way?"

"Fortunately for you, she's on the verge of stabbing an intern. Who knows? If she does, at least you can say without a doubt that Society Tomorrow has blood on its hands," he said, in some muddy attempt at humor. Disturbingly enough, his smile remained as clear cut as day, undeterred by her sudden change in mood. Yet. "But you haven't answered my question, Ms. Addison."

She scowled, her eyes striking him with hostility. "You'll be pleased to know that I had nothing to do with that. I'm leader of people, not a hacker." Corrinne gritted her teeth with frustration.

Morandi arched a brow, before shrugging. His smile softened slightly, but the attitude was still there. "If you say so," he said, "I only wanted to inform you first, see if you'd have a word or two of it. And since you seem honest, Ms. Addison, I suppose I have nowhere to go."

The old man turned to the entrance, waving at her in a manner that seemed condescending, yet simultaneously genuine. "Have a good afternoon, Ms. Addison," he said. Before he walked out, however, he jolted slightly, snapping back to Corrinne. He reached into his coat. "Ah! Before I forget. The police said this belonged to one of your own."

From the coat, he produced a black cap with white lettering stitched into the back--"HATFIELD." Machmud patronizingly held it out to her, still grinning. She eyed him for a moment, then the hat before storming off back into the house, flushed cheeks and eyes nearly stinging with tears. She furiously dialed a number on her phone.

Somebody had to answer for this unannounced visit.

***

Up it went in a fireball, only taking two lives.

Poised in execution.

Ashlyn Flemming

Ashlyn watched, people were running, and she was pretty sure other news stations were sabotaging each other which, if she wasn't a journalist she would find funny. But she was a journalist and a damn good one at that, in the last year she had nabbed herself a spot on the field team at Msnbc, an honor in itself considering that not many rookies got a spot there in their first year. She wrote a note down in her notepad, the crowd getting rowdier and rowdier. Putting her notepad in her pocket with her pen Ashlyn slowly walked towards the line of police men. The house was beautiful on the outside, and the woman coming out of it was dressed rather important. Ashlyn pushed her way to the front for a better line of sight, pulling her notepad back out she began scribbling more notes. All the reporters shoved each other, no one was asking questions, Ashlyn wanted everyone to shut up and the only way she knew how to do it was to kick off the questions, she held her head high and yelled out.

"Ms. Addison! Do you condone the radicals in your organization?" Everyone went dead silent, other journalists and reporters frantically writing down the question in their own notepads and listening for the response. Ashlyn watched Addison, the way she positioned herself and leaned forward to respond to the question, Addison responded with.

"No, of course not. We are, in every regard, meant to be a largely peaceful organization. A protest of the modern-day." Ashlyn wrote this down, noting the slight hesitation in Addison's posture before she concluded her answer, "I must ask those that have resorted to terrorism to return to the purely-civil manner of retaliation."

Ashlyn wrote this down and another reporter yelled out a question.

After the conference Ash sat in her office writing the article, stopping every once in a while to drink tea from an old mug. When the article was finished and sent off to her editor in chief, Ashlyn found herself staring at her computer background, a picture of her brother and her before he was arrested, the reason she knew all she knew.

*Flashback*

"Ash, let me show you a trick" Finely said, Ashlyn scooted over from her computer and Fin started typing weird things into it, suddenly her screen flashed blue, looking at her brother in alarm she was surprised to see him smiling. When Fin was done showing her all the cool stuff he found she asked him to show her how to do it on her own.

Over the next few weeks Fin showed her, and as she learned Fin started looking more tired. When he had finally taught her everything he told her to keep it a secret from their parents.

The day Fin was arrested Ash and Fin were watching TV. Something they did after eating dinner every night. Ashlyn had heard a knock on the door and opened it, suddenly she was pulled outside and placed behind a cop. Frightened she started yelling for Fin.

"FINELY HELP, WHATS GOING ON I WANT MY BROTHER FINELY" she yelled at the top of her voice. Fin walked out and was immediately tackled by three cops, when they pulled him up Ashlyn saw the tear in his shirt, his lip was bleeding but the cop in front of her was preventing her from going to him. She watched as they roughly shoved her brother into the back seat and left with him. Then she waited for her parents to come home.

*End of flashback*


Ashlyn stared at the picture for a moment then opened the command screen, typing in a few commands and she opened up a whole new screen.

Emma Carrow

"I want you out. Tomorrow." Her friend, Maggie, shuffled through stacks of bills on her counter as she spoke. "And don't act all surprised, I told you about me and Parker ages ago. He's planning to move in tomorrow afternoon."

"Yeah, yeah," said Emma absently as she deleted old programs off her computer. "I'll be out. And I'll be getting an apartment this time."

Maggie rolled her eyes. "You. In an apartment. Let me know and I throw you the biggest house-warming party this city's ever seen."

"I'm for real this time," Emma protested.

"You don't even have a job. You just play around online all day. How are you going to afford one?"

Emma shrugged. "Say what you want, I'll text you my address when I get there."

"I'll be waiting."
--------

The apartment wasn't exactly what Emma had imagined when she pictured her own home as a child. It was arguably smaller than her bedroom, all one room with a bathroom near the door.

There was a kitchenette on the right wall and a window on the far wall. That was all. Emma didn't have any furniture.

She spent the next few days arranging her space, hauling in a few folding chairs that she bought at a yard sale to serve as seating. Her bed was an air mattress with a sleeping bag on top. The only part of her apartment that Emma paid any attention to detail on was her new desktop set up. Monitors were sprawled across the floor and her newly built machine hummed in the background. It felt good to finally had a setup that she didn't have to worry about moving constantly.

And after a few days, it was time for Emma to return to her friends.

She ran through all the preliminary measures, set up her VPN and launched Tor, among a few other checks, before entering into the IRC chat she and a few of her...gifted... friends from college shared. They immediately noticed her presence.

*Auntie_Em has entered the room*
Eighty_Eight: Em. Where have you been.
Auntie_Em: I was between places.
GMAN: Jeez I thought u wuz dead
Auntie_Em: hahahaha you wish
Russian_Sun: Hey Em. Carter here was telling us about the CIA.
Carter: Okay, but can I please finish this conspiracy?
Russian_Sun: No
GMAN: NOPE
Carter: Sheeple

The one in charge of their group, Eighty_Eight was strangely quiet until he said:

Eighty_Eight: I have a proposition.
Auntie_Em: what is it
GMAN: tell ussssss
Eighty_Eight: We should liven things up. I say we have a little competition.
Russian_Sun: oh?
Eighty_Eight: Who here hates Society Tomorrow?
Carter: Is that a rhetorical question?
Eighty_Eight: They recently were sued over some financial stuff. Remember that?
Carter: Yes...?
*Jolly has entered the chat*
GMAN: JOLLY hurry up we're scheming
Jolly: Oh ok hahaha what's up
Eighty_Eight: We put some money into a pool. First one to hack in and dig up those records wins.
Russian_Sun: Holy cannoli
Jolly: WHAT
Carter: Yeah I'd be down for that
Auntie_Em: Let's do it!


Emma's brain began to buzz with the possibilities as she began to think through how she would pull off a hack like this. The guys in this channel were mega-nerds. She'd need to think simple. Easy. Don't try to show off.

Out of the entire group, their biggest downfall was their pride. They all wanted a hack to be elegant, to be clever. But not this time. To win this, Emma would have to be fast. Not sloppy, just fast.

Auntie_Em: What's the time frame for this?
Eighty_Eight: Few days probably.
GMAN: It's whoever finishes first.
Jolly: Which will be me.
Russian_Sun: Yeah ok lolol
Carter: Wait, are we actually doing this?
GMAN: YES CARTER, get with the game.
Eight_Eight: Everyone send their $50 and then we get started.

Within minutes, Emma had been thrust back into the game again. She already knew what to do. Was it cheating? No. Was it a scummy trick? Yes.

Her plan was to send a phishing email to one of the low-level accounting employees of Society Tomorrow, one that would mimic an email from the IT department saying that the employee needed to change their password. When they clicked the link, they'd be directed to Emma's own site, made up to look official. There, they'd enter in their password and Emma would be into the system. From there, it was just a matter of clicking the right things and possible scamming her way into getting the account clearance upgraded so that she could actually view the files.

Piece of cake. Society Tomorrow wouldn't know what hit them.